The Examination
by George P
Summary: During a physical exam, a young girl reveals her magical powers but does her female doctor also have a secret?


Name: George Pollock, Jr.  
  
Newport News, VA 23608-2855  
  
E-mail: GJJPJR@aol.com  
  
This story was named "Most Original" in the fifth annual fan-fiction contest at Anime North, conducted   
  
May 16 to 18, 2003, in Toronto. Fan-fiction coordinator: Dave Greenlaw, dave@engine.ca  
  
  
  
The Examination  
  
By George Pollock, Jr.  
  
The girl tensed as the adult's hand slid up under the front of the sleeveless white undershirt she wore.  
  
  
  
"Relax …," the adult said softly.  
  
  
  
The girl tried, but it was difficult. The adult's hand moved slowly up the girl's chest until it rested just left   
  
of the middle.  
  
  
  
"Umm …," the girl said quietly.  
  
  
  
"Shhhh …," the adult answered gently.  
  
  
  
Silence. The warmth of the adult's hand spread across the girl's chest. The hand rested there a moment   
  
more, then withdrew efficiently.  
  
  
  
"OK …," the adult said. "Now …"  
  
  
  
An instant later, again under the garment, the hand slid up the left side of the girl's back until it rested   
  
below the shoulder blade.  
  
  
  
"Breathe for me. Deeply," the adult coaxed.  
  
  
  
The girl did. Then the warm hand moved to the other side of her back.  
  
  
  
"Again …," the adult urged.  
  
  
  
The girl breathed deeply. After she exhaled, the hand exited her undershirt. She was glad for that.  
  
  
  
And at that, the female doctor straightened slightly, removed the stethoscope from her ears and draped the   
  
instrument around her neck.  
  
  
  
And she smiled.  
  
  
  
"Well," she said with a sparkle in her big blue eyes, "everything sounds OK."  
  
  
  
The girl sitting on the examination table nodded. She studied the woman standing in front of her: Short,   
  
deeply dark hair. The blue eyes shone behind oversized glasses. She also wore dark single-bead earrings –   
  
black pearls, the doctor had said when the girl asked earlier. They had been much bluer when she got them   
  
as a girl, the woman explained, but her skin oil had darkened them over the years. Under her white doctor's   
  
coat, she wore a medium-blue dress with a matching belt. Slim yet well-toned legs stood in medium-blue   
  
flat-heeled shoes.  
  
  
  
The doctor lightly took up the girl's right wrist. "I hope my hand wasn't cold," she said kindly.  
  
  
  
"No."  
  
  
  
"Sometimes, my hands can get cold. It can surprise you."  
  
  
  
"Oh."  
  
  
  
The doctor slightly pinched the child's wrist between the woman's thumb and index finger. She lifted her   
  
other arm and focused intently on her watch.  
  
  
  
With her own green eyes, the 11-year-old with the short brown hair looked around the examination room:   
  
Cream-colored walls ended at dark-blue floral-patterned wainscoting. Paintings of bluebonnets and   
  
cornflowers – and of blue surf on white-sand beaches – highlighted the walls. Faintly, just at the threshold   
  
of hearing, the sound of gentle surf came from a small speaker in the ceiling.  
  
  
  
"Those pictures are pretty," the girl offered.  
  
  
  
The doctor's gaze never left her watch. "Thank you. My father painted them."  
  
  
  
"He's good."  
  
  
  
The woman chuckled. "I'll tell him you said that …"  
  
  
  
Now the girl watched the woman breathe. In the middle of her chest, on a delicate silver chain, a strange   
  
silver pendant of an abstract design hung. It looked like – well, the child didn't know what it looked like.   
  
"That's a pretty necklace, too," she said.  
  
  
  
"Thank you. My husband gave it to me."  
  
  
  
"What does he do?"  
  
  
  
"He's an engineer."  
  
  
  
The green eyes widened. "Like on a train?"  
  
  
  
"No. He's the sort of engineer that would design the train, though."  
  
  
  
The girl thought. "Well … that's cool, too."  
  
  
  
Another chuckle. "And I'll tell him you said that …"  
  
  
  
"Do you have any kids?"  
  
  
  
The doctor looked up sharply. Then her expression softened, and she seemed to gaze away distantly.   
  
"No," she said simply. Then she glanced at the girl and grinned a small grin that the female child would   
  
one day learn. "Not yet …"  
  
  
  
"Oh." The child pointed at the pendant. "What's that?"  
  
  
  
The doctor released the girl's wrist. "We call it our 'happy wishing star.' It's the symbol of that star.   
  
When we see it, we make a happy wish for each other."  
  
  
  
"Would I be able to see it?"  
  
  
  
"Maybe. But I'll bet you'd be just getting up for school, so you might miss it."  
  
  
  
"Oh. How long have you had it?"  
  
  
  
The doctor sat at the small desk in the examination room. From a pocket in her white coat, she pulled out   
  
a fat blue pen with a scratched and tarnished gold-colored cap. There was a small projection at the top of   
  
the cap, as if it had been the base of an ornament. But the snap seemed to be very old, as if the loss had   
  
occurred long ago. "Quite a few years," the woman answered. "My husband gave it to me when we were   
  
married." Then she started writing on a chart on a clipboard.  
  
  
  
"Oh."  
  
  
  
The thick blue pen wiggled its way across the paper in silence. Finally, the doctor put the instrument   
  
down and faced the girl again. "Well," she huffed out pleasantly, "your heart and lungs sound good. And   
  
your eyes and ears appear fine. I don't see any problems with your throat, either. And your reflexes are   
  
good." She paused and thought. "In fact … your reflexes are outstanding …" She focused again. "How do   
  
you feel?"  
  
  
  
"Good."  
  
  
  
"Any pains anywhere?"  
  
  
  
"Um … no …"  
  
  
  
The doctor didn't seem to exactly accept that, but she continued: "Do you eat well? Good food, not just   
  
junk food? Fruits and vegetables? Bread and muffins? Milk and juice?"  
  
  
  
"Uh-huh. My dad's a great cook."  
  
  
  
The doctor was silent a moment. "Yeah …" She leaned forward a little, and her tone became a shade   
  
more serious. "You have only the one parent, right?"  
  
  
  
The girl nodded. "Yeah. My mom died when I was three. I really don't remember her."  
  
  
  
"So it's just you and your father at home?"  
  
  
  
"No, my older brother lives there, too." The child screwed up her face. "He's a real creep."  
  
  
  
The woman chuckled but recovered quickly. "Well, let me ask you something, and I want you to be   
  
completely honest with me. It's important, OK?"  
  
  
  
" 'kay …"  
  
  
  
The doctor's blue eyes bore into the girl's green. "Does your father – or your brother – ever hit you in   
  
anger?"  
  
  
  
The green widened. "No …"  
  
  
  
"Is that the truth?"  
  
  
  
The girl was more certain – and suspicious. "Yes."  
  
  
  
The doctor sighed and reconsidered her approach. "OK … I want you to know that if anyone is hurting   
  
you … or is touching you … in the wrong places …"  
  
  
  
She halted. "Do you know what that means?"  
  
  
  
"Yes. My dad warned me about that. No one's doing that."  
  
  
  
"Well, again … is that the truth?"  
  
  
  
Now there was a tinge of anger. "YES."  
  
  
  
"OK … If anyone is hitting or touching you – if that makes you feel uncomfortable or bad, you can tell   
  
me. I can help make it stop."  
  
  
  
The girl spoke coolly and evenly. "There's nothing like that. Honest."  
  
  
  
The doctor sighed deeply and bowed her head. When she lifted her face to the child again, she pointed to   
  
the girl's arms and asked, "OK, then how did those happen?"  
  
  
  
The girl looked down but not in surprise. The secret was out.  
  
  
  
The bruises on her arms.  
  
  
  
Three – enough to tell that the child's arms had been struck hard. They ranged from purple-black to   
  
sickly yellow to a faint beige spot. Even knowing it couldn't bury the secret again, the girl tried to cover the   
  
marks by crossing her arms and keeping her fingers tightly together. She looked away furtively from the   
  
woman.  
  
  
  
"When I asked you to lift your undershirt earlier," the doctor said tenderly, "when I was checking your   
  
ribs, you had other bruises on your chest and back. And you reacted with pain in one spot."  
  
  
  
The girl said nothing. Her gaze turned down toward her white school skirt and her short white socks.   
  
"You've been hurt – badly – haven't you?"  
  
  
  
The child still didn't face her. "I … fall in gym class … a lot …" It wasn't convincing.  
  
  
  
"I've seen gym-class injuries before. These aren't like them."  
  
  
  
Neither said anything for a moment. Finally, the doctor got up, walked over to the girl and clasped the   
  
child's hands gently. "How did they happen?" she whispered. "You can tell me."  
  
  
  
The girl looked up. And the doctor was surprised to see the gleam of starting tears in the child's eyes.  
  
  
  
"If I tell you," the girl started, half-choked with emotion, "will you promise not to tell my father – or my   
  
brother?"  
  
  
  
"That depends on what you tell me. If someone is hurting you, I have to tell people who need to know. I   
  
might even have to tell the police."  
  
  
  
The child thought. "I really need to tell someone … not just my friends …"  
  
  
  
"But I'm a friend," the doctor replied. "And I don't want you to be hurt – in your body or your feelings."  
  
  
  
Silence. Finally, the girl said, "Well … sometimes … I get into …" She struggled over the next, last   
  
word. "… fights …"  
  
  
  
"With whom?"  
  
  
  
"It's … kinda hard to tell you. If I show you, will you promise not to be … scared …?"  
  
  
  
The concept confused the woman, but the girl seemed to be opening up to her. "All right …," she said,   
  
nodding.  
  
  
  
With a crinkling of the stiff white paper on the examination table, the child slid off and went over to   
  
another, smaller table at the far end of the room. Her black school shoes lay under the furniture. Her black   
  
mock-turtleneck top lay liquidly on the table, next to her dark-gray school blouse and her white school cap   
  
with its two black ribbons. Beside them was an open can of soda pop that the girl had put there earlier. She   
  
paused at the table, then grabbed the can and took a sip. Instantly, she made a sour face. "Warm," she   
  
whispered harshly and put the can back down.  
  
  
  
At the right end of the table sat her brown school bookbag. Sticking out from under one end of the bag's   
  
top flap was a small yellow teddy bear with tiny white wings – a favorite toy, the doctor guessed.  
  
  
  
The girl stood in front of the bag, blocking the doctor's view. The woman saw the child's hands unclasp   
  
and open the top flap, and the girl started to fumble in the bag.  
  
  
  
That was the moment when the doctor heard the whisper of a voice. It was small, tough …  
  
  
  
… and male:  
  
  
  
"Hey, kid! Whad're ya doon?"  
  
  
  
The girl's voice answered in an urgent whisper. "I'm going to show her."  
  
  
  
"WHAD'RE YA, NUTS?! WHY?!"  
  
  
  
"Because of what we talked about."  
  
  
  
"Don' do it, kid!! Please!"  
  
  
  
The reply was sharp and painful. "I HAVE to! It's KILLING me!"  
  
  
  
A silence followed. When the male voice spoke again, it was more tender and caring: "OK … Jus'   
  
remember I'm over here for ya, kid. Always will be."  
  
  
  
The girl was equally kind. "I know … Thank you …"  
  
  
  
With that, the child's hands flipped over the flap of the bookbag, and she headed a little closer to the   
  
doctor. As the full bookbag came back into view, all the woman saw – again – was the small yellow teddy   
  
bear with tiny white wings. Silent. Motionless.  
  
  
  
And the doctor wondered …  
  
  
  
The girl stopped in the middle of the room. In one hand, she held a thin metal chain with a pendant on it.   
  
The ornament looked like a short key, and on one end, it had the stylized head of a white parakeet with red   
  
eyes.  
  
  
  
In the other hand, she held what looked like a red-and-gold tarot card.  
  
  
  
"Promise you won't be scared?" she asked.  
  
  
  
The doctor nodded.  
  
  
  
The child sighed. "OK …"  
  
  
  
At which, she tossed the chain and pendant into the air.  
  
  
  
And she cried:  
  
  
  
"Key of Clow! Power of magic! Power of light!  
  
  
  
"Surrender the wand! The force ignite!  
  
  
  
"Release!"  
  
  
  
Suddenly, on the floor below the girl, a mandala of bright golden light flashed into existence. It was a   
  
circle, a seeming astrological chart with the blazing sun, a crescent moon and what looked like zodiac   
  
symbols. The doctor wasn't certain.  
  
  
  
Around the pendant in midair, a sphere of translucent white light formed. Inside, the pendant started to   
  
spin crazily – and grow. An instant later, the ornament flashed, and the sphere winked away.  
  
  
  
Slowly, a long pink wand with a large pink ring at one end – and a gold star in the circle, and tiny white   
  
wings on the circle's sides – floated down toward the girl. She snatched it with a polished grab that made a   
  
loud snap as she caught the object. The mandala beneath the girl had disappeared somehow.  
  
  
  
The doctor blinked. "Oooh-kaaay …"  
  
  
  
Now the girl flipped the card into the air, where it hovered and spun impossibly. In a swift, practiced   
  
move, she raised the wand above her head.  
  
  
  
And she cried:  
  
  
  
"Shadow card! Release and dispel! Shadow card!"  
  
  
  
She swung the wand fiercely at the card. The instant that it hit, a brilliant sheet of light exploded from the   
  
contact point. It was blinding and relentless, and the doctor raised an arm to shield her eyes.  
  
  
  
Then it was gone.  
  
  
  
And in its place was a disturbing darkness. As if the lights in the room were muted by some strange   
  
quality of the air itself. The strange quality floated in front of the doctor.  
  
  
  
The dark, hooded robe of death.  
  
  
  
The doctor had seen death in its many masks before. But never directly. She had learned years ago not to   
  
be frightened by death. More accepting, really – and sometimes angry at it. But frightened? No, not any   
  
longer.  
  
  
  
It was then that she noticed that there was no death's head, only the robe – its folds undulating gracefully   
  
in a breeze that wasn't there but seemed to liquefy the very air around the specter.  
  
  
  
The doctor applied her scientific training, her medical experience and her not-inconsiderable intellect:   
  
She had witnessed a phenomenon. She formed a theory, tested it in her mind and came to the only   
  
reasonable, logical, rational conclusion:  
  
  
  
"Uh-HUH …"  
  
  
  
Again, the girl raised the wand and swung. "Shadow card! Return to your power confined!"  
  
  
  
Another sheet of brilliant light. When the doctor lowered her arm from her eyes this time, the card had   
  
returned, spinning in midair until the girl plucked it with a smooth swipe of her hand. It was as if she had   
  
done the move countless times. There was even a hint of blasé detachment on her face and green eyes. She   
  
almost seemed bored.  
  
  
  
The child lowered the hand holding the card. As she did, the wand's sphere of light reappeared and   
  
shrank with the rod until both disappeared into her fist. When she opened her fingers, the metal chain and   
  
bird's-head key rested in her palm.  
  
  
  
The two females gazed at each other in a deep silence. The doctor finally broke it quietly: "Interesting   
  
hobby …"  
  
  
  
The girl sighed. "I've been able to do this for about a year. It happened by accident."  
  
  
  
"Some accident," the doctor noted dryly.  
  
  
  
The child went to put away the items. "I've caught 52 of these cards," she explained, returning the card   
  
and key to the bookbag. "Well, 53. There was a final card that sort of balanced all the others. It was the   
  
toughest."  
  
  
  
She returned to the examination table, hopped back onto the paper covering and sighed. "Capturing some   
  
of them was really tough. And sometimes, controlling them is tough, too." She looked down. "Really tough   
  
…"  
  
  
  
The doctor considered what she had seen – just then and on the child's body. "That's why you have those   
  
bruises, am I right?"  
  
  
  
The girl simply stared at her feet dangling off the table. Silently, she nodded.  
  
  
  
The woman thought some more. "So your father and brother don't know about this, then?"  
  
  
  
A nod of the brown-haired head.  
  
  
  
"Does anyone else know?"  
  
  
  
The girl looked back up. "Well … two girls at my school know. And a boy. It's kinda our secret."  
  
  
  
The doctor faced away from the examination table as she leaned against it and crossed her arms. "Tell me   
  
…," she began softly, "why is this 'killing' you …?"  
  
  
  
There was a moment's shock on the girl's face upon hearing the word. Then, not for the first time that   
  
day, she sighed heavily. "Well," she said grudgingly, "one of the two girls is a real pain. She's Chinese,   
  
from Hong Kong, and she thinks she knows everything about these cards, but she doesn't."  
  
  
  
"I see. You don't dislike her just because she's Chinese, do you?"  
  
  
  
"Oh, no. The boy is Chinese, from Hong Kong, too. They knew each other there. But she thinks she owns   
  
him."  
  
  
  
"Does that bother you?"  
  
  
  
A pause. "Sometimes …"  
  
  
  
Then the doctor paused. "Do you like the boy?"  
  
  
  
The girl shrugged. "Kinda …"  
  
  
  
"So … why is your secret 'killing' you?"  
  
  
  
The child started studying her feet again. "Well … yesterday … the girl was all full of herself and all over   
  
me about the cards. I wished she would shut up. But she just went on and on. I … began to think …" Her   
  
voice trailed off.  
  
  
  
The doctor turned toward her and peered closer. "What …?"  
  
  
  
"I thought …," the girl whispered in a shamed tone, "how much … some of these cards could … hurt   
  
someone …"   
  
  
  
The doctor bowed her head. "Hmm …" A moment later, without looking at the child, she asked, "What   
  
did you do?"  
  
  
  
The youngster's head snapped up sharply. "I didn't hurt her!" she cried quickly.  
  
  
  
"Well," the woman said, facing the girl again, "that's good."  
  
  
  
"But it scared me! I wanted her to shut up, but I didn't want to hurt her!"  
  
  
  
"Was it tempting to use one of those cards to shut her up?"  
  
  
  
The girl calmed slightly. "Yeah … but I thought about how mad – and disappointed – my father would be   
  
if he ever found out I did something like that. Even my creep brother … And the other girl who knows   
  
about the cards is kinda my cousin. She's my best friend. I think she'd hate me if I used the cards to hurt   
  
anyone just because I was mad at them."  
  
  
  
She took a deep breath. "And this boy I told you about would hate me forever if I hurt the Chinese girl."   
  
She thought for a moment. "Even if he does like me more …"  
  
  
  
The doctor asked, "Does what he thinks mean that much to you?"  
  
  
  
A nod.  
  
  
  
"Well … remember you should always do what you think is right -- not just what you think will please   
  
someone else. That's important."  
  
  
  
"I know … but … I like him …"  
  
  
  
The woman considered something else. "Tell me whether I'm right or wrong: You didn't hurt the   
  
Chinese girl, but I'll bet you ran away from her, ran home, locked your bedroom door and cried a lot   
  
because you were afraid that you even thought about hurting her with your powers."  
  
  
  
The doctor's big blue eyes locked onto the child's green. "Am I right?"  
  
  
  
Astonished, the child gasped. "Yeah! How'd you know …?"  
  
  
  
Curiously, the woman smiled and looked away from the girl, as if trying to see something very distant.   
  
She then regarded the girl again -- much as a tolerant, understanding older sister would -- and walked to the   
  
table where the child's belongings lay. Surveying them for a second, she lit upon the soda can. She picked   
  
it up by the top rim, feeling the liquid's weight slosh around inside as she swirled the can thoughtfully.  
  
  
  
"You haven't finished your soda," she noted.  
  
  
  
The girl screwed up her face again. "It's warm. I don't like warm soda."  
  
  
  
The doctor nodded significantly. "Ah …" She walked back to the girl, holding the can out before her.   
  
"Well, in that case …"  
  
  
  
She smiled. And then she whispered. Three words.  
  
  
  
The girl didn't catch the first two. It seemed as if they came slowly from deep within the woman – as if   
  
she were summoning a force of nature by sheer will.  
  
  
  
But the girl was sure of the last word. Quite sure. It was as if the doctor were unleashing with that single   
  
word a flood of raw elemental power:  
  
  
  
"… illusion …"  
  
  
  
For a moment, nothing happened. The girl almost felt cheated.  
  
  
  
Until …  
  
  
  
Starting at the woman's fingertips, frost slowly formed on the metal can. A crinkling sound began to   
  
grow, and the frost crystallized rapidly down the can. By the time that the rime reached the bottom of the   
  
container, a cloud of mist and frost shot off and vanished ephemerally.  
  
The girl's eyes bulged. Her jaw dropped.  
  
  
  
"Sometimes," the doctor said softly, "my hands can get very cold. It can surprise you."   
  
  
  
Then she offered the can to the child with a small smile.  
  
  
  
"WHOA …"  
  
  
  
The doctor turned back toward the small, tough male voice that spoke. All she looked at on the far table   
  
was the small yellow teddy bear with the tiny white wings, sticking out of the girl's bookbag. Silent.   
  
Motionless.  
  
Oh, of course, she thought playfully. It's just a toy …  
  
  
  
Which made her remember, suddenly, the magic of past special friends. "I really miss those cats," she   
  
whispered to no one, then turned back to the girl.  
  
  
  
The child had taken the can from the woman and sipped. The sweet soda inside was frigid – almost   
  
bitingly so. She gazed at the doctor, as the frost on the metal surface retreated from her small fingertips.  
  
  
  
"How …?" she asked blankly.  
  
  
  
The woman put her hands in the pockets of her long white coat and again smiled. Her blue eyes assessed   
  
the youth with the wisdom of years.  
  
  
  
"When I was … a bit older than you are now," she began, "I used to hang around with a group of   
  
girlfriends. They were very special to me. And we could do some …   
  
  
  
"… unusual things, too …  
  
"One girl could shoot a bow and arrow of fire. Another could throw a chain of energy. Another could   
  
spin around and shoot out energy like leaves blowing from an oak tree. She was … a really good friend of   
  
mine." The woman paused. "Do you have a special friend? Someone you can be strong with – or who   
  
understands it when you cry?"  
  
  
  
"That girl who's kinda my cousin," the child replied. "It's like she's my biggest fan. She says she can't   
  
wait for both of us to grow up." She thought a moment. "I really don't know what she means …"  
  
  
  
"I think I do," the doctor said. "When I was with the big, tall 'oak' girl, I felt safe. And sometimes, when   
  
I was sad or scared, she would hug me when we were alone and let me cry."   
  
  
  
Her gaze drifted away from the child, and her tone became dreamlike. "She had such … strong arms …   
  
and they were so warm … And when I was done crying, I'd look into her beautiful green eyes … and she   
  
had such a pretty smile … such pretty … lips … and when we were so close, … we'd …"  
  
  
  
Her blue eyes closed. "Her lips were … so warm …"  
  
  
  
Then, from nowhere, she started to chuckle softly to herself. "Hell … if I hadn't met my husband, I might   
  
have ended up a lesb— …"  
  
  
  
Sharply, she stopped, blinked hard and turned suddenly toward the girl. As if she just caught herself   
  
before saying … something … more …  
  
  
  
She looked almost embarrassed.  
  
  
  
For her part, the girl blinked her own green eyes vacantly, stared at the woman and presented an   
  
expression that clearly indicated she had absolutely no idea what the doctor was talking about.  
  
  
  
Instantly, the doctor took a fist from a pocket, coughed into it and cleared her throat conspicuously. When   
  
she was finished, she had recovered her professional demeanor. "Anyway …," she continued in a serious   
  
tone, "there was also this one other girl. She had blond hair and funny, long pigtails, and we all loved her.   
  
But she was kind of … silly. She was usually more interested in doughnuts and her boyfriend than in the   
  
special magic she had been given."  
  
  
  
The doctor sighed. "One day, when we were in high school, I got … really angry with her. I was trying to   
  
tell her something very, very important. But she just wanted to talk about her boyfriend and going shopping   
  
after school. She wasn't listening. She wasn't taking me seriously.  
  
  
  
"And … that made me … angry …"  
  
  
  
She held up a hand and studied it. "I was so mad at her … and sometimes … my hands can get very, very   
  
cold … And I thought about how much my hands could …"  
  
  
  
She gazed at her open palm. "… hurt someone … terribly …"  
  
  
  
The mesmerized girl swallowed hard. And listened.  
  
  
  
"When I realized what I was thinking about," the woman said, facing the child again, "I was scared.   
  
Really scared. Scared of myself. I ran away from my friend, and after school, I ran home. I locked my   
  
bedroom door and cried for a long time because I was scared of what I had been thinking of … doing … to   
  
her …"  
  
  
  
"Did you ever see her again?"  
  
  
  
"Oh, yes. Actually, we all still keep in touch. That girl married her boyfriend, and they have a little girl."   
  
The doctor surveyed the child sitting before her. "She's about half your age. Maybe a little older."  
  
  
  
"I'm glad you didn't hurt your friend."  
  
  
  
"So am I. I learned – and it sounds as if you now need to learn – that we've been given great gifts. But if   
  
you use your gift to hurt other people and do wrong, you're wasting the gift – and ruining the trust that the   
  
gift put in you. Do you understand that?"  
  
  
  
The girl nodded. "Yeah. Like I said, I'd hate to disappoint my dad if he ever found out I hurt someone   
  
when I shouldn't have. I'd hate to disappoint my brother, too …" Then she thought. "Even if he is a creep   
  
…"  
  
  
  
The doctor chuckled. "Well, I'm glad to hear that. Still … you're a lot younger than I was when I felt the   
  
things you've been feeling now. You still have a lot of growing up to do. So …" She leaned toward the girl.   
  
"… you need to use your magic only to help people and keep them from harm – never to harm them just   
  
because you're angry. Promise?"  
  
  
  
Another nod. "I promise …"  
  
  
  
The woman smiled, then said playfully – yet intently: "But if I ever hear from a hospital or a doctor   
  
friend of mine that a Chinese girl in town has had a strange accident – I'll know whose father to talk to   
  
first, OK?"  
  
  
  
The girl grinned and rolled her eyes. "Oooh-kaay," she replied in singsong. But she suddenly looked at   
  
the doctor in concern. "Are you going to tell him about what I did with the card here?"  
  
  
  
The woman straightened up and pondered that. "I think that any patient of mine … who's old enough to   
  
know when she needs to ask for help with a problem – and will follow my advice to her …" Another smile.   
  
"Well, I think I should respect her wishes."  
  
  
  
"Thanks …"  
  
  
  
"Unless a Chinese girl turns up hurt, that is."  
  
  
  
The girl got the point. "Oh-KAAAY …"  
  
  
  
"Well, then," the doctor huffed out pleasantly, "I think we're done here. Why don't you put your clothes   
  
and shoes back on, and I'll go get your father in the waiting room. Then we'll talk about your examination,   
  
all right?"  
  
  
  
"OK," the girl repeated. "And thanks for not being scared about the card just now."  
  
  
  
"Well … my husband told me before I left for work that today would be magical for me. He's actually   
  
pretty good about knowing things like that beforehand ..."  
  
"He must be really smart," the girl said.  
  
  
  
The doctor grinned. "I'll tell Greg you said that, too."  
  
  
  
The child took another sip of soda. She noticed that the frost had melted off the top half of the can by   
  
now.  
  
  
  
And she thought.  
  
  
  
She couldn't pronounce the doctor's last name on her white coat's nametag – not in a million years. It   
  
must have been her married name. But she knew the woman's first name, the one she had called the adult   
  
for years.  
  
  
  
The doctor had just opened the examination-room door when the girl addressed her in deepest gratitude:  
  
  
  
"Thank you, Doctor Ami."  
  
  
  
The woman turned around in the doorway and brushed aside a deeply dark stray hair – cobalt blue where   
  
the light struck it. The brilliance sparkled in her big, blue, understanding eyes, then glinted on the silver   
  
pendant on her chest: the little heart outline with a small cross sticking from the bottom and two tiny horns   
  
on the top.  
  
  
  
The symbol of her star:  
  
  
  
Mercury.  
  
  
  
The doctor smiled a final time. "You're welcome, Sakura."  
  
  
  
And then she closed the door.  
  
"Sailor Moon" and "Cardcaptor Sakura" characters copyrighted by their respective owners. Story copyright   
  
2003 by George Pollock, Jr. All rights reserved. 


End file.
